


Long Road

by effigyapogee



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, legal age gap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29762577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effigyapogee/pseuds/effigyapogee
Summary: Two strangers meet in a diner in the middle of nowhere. The story is as one might predict.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Female Character (past), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

The warm rays of the sun licked at brown curls as footsteps trudged along the roadside. His feet, covered just barely by flip-flops kicked up dust that was whisked away by the wind. The boy had no idea where he was going, but the filth caked under and around his nails and the sense of dread that filled him when he looked down at them had him thinking it was best that he didn't stop despite how dry his mouth was getting. He didn't know how long he'd been walking when the city behind him finally vanished in the distance, but it was nearly sundown when a new place started to appear. He rubbed at his eyes, then started to speed up a bit, the shoes on his feet biting into blisters and the start of a sunburn. 

The place, he realizes when he gets close enough, is a diner, and still very much in the middle of nowhere. A single car sits in a parking spot, some shitty old Ford van that couldn't pass an emissions check. But as he passes by it, the boy's golden eyes find surprise in the form of a license plate belonging to a Canadian. His heart pounds. Surely he couldn't be that lucky to find a Canadian in California. His mind began to race as he walked up the parking lot, up the concrete stairs and into the diner. One look around found nobody. He felt his chest squeeze, and he was just about to turn to walk out when the server spotted him.

"Good evening!" she greets from behind the counter, "Welcome to Hank's, feel free to sit anywhere you like!"

Trapped in the social claws of interaction, he just approaches the counter, sitting on one of the cushy stools. It smelled nice, now that he was so close to the window leading to the kitchen, like sweets and meats. His stomach growled, as the waitress passed him a glass of water and a menu. He thanks her softly, then gets to reading. Everything sounded good, but it all sounded... fattening, and he could feel words of discouragement flowing through his brain. Indecision was easy when he felt as though he couldn't have anything. It's while he's looking at the menu, that a second body comes into view from around the corner.

It's a guy. A huge, hulking man with muscles far too big for the t-shirt he was wearing. His hair was long and curly, adorned with a knitted cap atop his head. A mask hugged his face, and the boy realized he should have grabbed one, himself, before he left. It was the middle of a pandemic, after all. The man passes him, then sits two seats down. The server gives him the same treatment, and he's quick to order a black coffee. This must be the owner of the van. He can't keep his gaze off of him. He surely must be, he's the only one here, which means he's from where the boy wants to go. His heart is pounding, his stomach is clenching. The stranger looks toward him, a brow quirking up, and he can feel a pit of self-consciousness fill him. He forces his eyes away.

When the server returns to him, he orders a salad and a cup of fruit. The stranger orders a full breakfast.

"You ought to take a picture, it might last longer."

They're alone, he realizes suddenly, and the man's voice is suddenly directed toward him, tone teasing. He scoffs, smiling lightly.

"I'm not trying to stare," he says softly, "I just noticed you're the only one in here, so that must be your car in the parking lot, right?" The stranger's brows lift, and he nods. The boy shrugs. "It's a nice car. I noticed your plates said you were from Ontario. I am too."

"Well, that is an interesting coincidence," the stranger says, leaning his elbows on the counter, "Small world, hm?" The boy nods, then continues, his heart starting to pound again.

"Are you heading back there right now?"

The man shrugs. "I am, but I'm taking the long road. I'm currently on a trip. I've wanted to travel, so I'm taking the opportunity while I have it."   
  
"Oh, I see," he murmurs, falling silent as the server brings his salad and fruit. The fruit is quickly eaten, but the salad is mostly pushed around. It's big, takes up the whole plate, and it's just a bit overwhelming. He takes a few bites, pops the cherry tomatoes into his mouth, then calls it, pushing the plate away. He sets his credit card down onto the counter, for when the server would need it. When he looks back over to the stranger, he's eaten about half of his breakfast, and is taking a swig of his coffee. He rubs the back of his neck, bites his lip, then speaks.

"Do you want someone to travel with?" The man sputters into his coffee a bit, clearly surprised by his words. He sets his cup down, eyes wide as he turns to the boy. It's then that he notices his nose, clearly inhuman in how it's flatter, has slits as opposed to nostrils, and a bit of peach fuzz decorates the bridge of it. He doesn't know why he's surprised. Perhaps he'd pegged the man as just a normal human, but now it was glaringly obvious without the mask hiding it. When he speaks, the boy can see the points of sharp teeth.

"I'm assuming that you're walking, if you're asking that." The man arches his brow, his lips twisting upward in a small smile. The boy nods. "Well," he continues, "I think there might be room in my van. But I'll have to know your name, first."

The boy considers his options, but this man was clearly going to take him along. So he swallows back his nerves and smiles back.

"I'm Persephone," he says. The man reaches out a hand.

"I'm Jack. A pleasure."


	2. Chapter 2

The inside of the van wasn't near as enthralling as the interior of the diner. It was a big van, it was certainly an old one if the amount of dust in the air vents were anything to go by, and the seat was made with leather, it was both comfortable and uncomfortable, and a seam had split long ago, leaving squishy yellow foam nestling against the side of the boy's thigh, bare with the shorts he had on. The smell of smoke was thick, and he found himself cringing every time Jack brought one of his cigarettes down toward the center console. He had emptied it at the diner just before they left, but already, after only a half hour, there were two butts in the ashtray. Clearly the man was a tad addicted. But nothing like some of the folks he used to know. A guitar case sat in the back seat, along with a suitcase and an overnight bag atop it, and the sunroof offered a dim view of the stars outside. Now, the diner was a memory, and this van and the smoking Jack were his present.

He'd been dozing off, his eyes and muscles heavy from an entire day of running, and then walking. His feet ached, especially where the sandals he'd worn cut into the seam of where his toes met. He could feel that sunburn especially now, with the warming leather pressing to his shoulders. He'd clearly picked a good day to wear a tank top. But the darkness surrounding them, only lit up by the headlights on the road, was comforting, and despite how he felt physically, he found that sleep was tugging at him. The occasional bump or any stray noise that Jack made quickly woke him, though, and after a while of nodding off only to have his eyes jerk open left him sitting up straight and watching the road ahead.

"Where are we going?" He breaks the silence, his own voice sounding foreign.

Jack glances over to him, he can see the turn of his head.

"North, right now. There's a small town with a cheap motel up ahead, I figure you'd like to sleep in a bed instead of a van."

Percy hums, coiling a curl around a finger. He looks away, thinking over it. A bed sounded nice, but surely the man would want to share a room, share a bed. He'd demand payment for taking the boy in, and take the payment by way of his small body. Of course, it could happen in the van, as well... But a bed might be more comfortable, and he could hide in a bathroom afterwards, if need be. It filled him with dread to consider, but he nods in agreement.

"Yeah, a bed sounds nice."

The bed _is_ nice. When they arrive, Jack does in fact get them a single. Percy lays on it, while Jack showers. It's comfortable, it's clean, and it's making him feel heavy and tired again. The sound of running water certainly doesn't help. He can feel himself jerk awake, though, as the water stops. He takes a deep breath and sits up, wide eyes on the door. Gold meets red-brown, as Jack joins him in the room, and he can feel his heart pick up. The man is dressed, but that doesn't mean anything. He draws closer, and Percy's breath hitches lightly.

Jack simply drops into bed, covering himself. Percy looks to him, confusion taking hold. He didn't ask the boy for any favors. He just got into bed. He just laid down, like it was nothing. Like he didn't even care. The boy stands, pacing to the bathroom. He swallows thickly, a ringing humming in his ears as he takes steps back and forth, the water-soaked rug under his feet squishing each time he steps on it. He discards his clothes, placing them on the counter as he hops into the shower. Cold water shocks him into better lucidity. Jack clearly doesn't want to sleep with him. Jack clearly is just being nice. Jack probably pities him, doesn't want to make him walk all the way home. It's fine. It's all fine.

He slowly turns the heat up, lets himself relax, lets his sunburn scream as he washes away more of the memories of the city.

When he joins Jack in the bedroom once more, he climbs into the bed, snuggling under the covers. Jack snores softly, and Percy can't help but take in his appearance, now that he's so close. The man has two rabbit ears protruding from the top of his head, and they lay limply against the pillow. A magical, indeed. A scar cuts into his face, from the top of his eyebrow, across his eyelid, and down his cheek. Facial hair, shaven in the last couple weeks, pokes from his skin in a patchless beard. His breathing is steady. Dead asleep.

Percy closes his eyes, hoping that he could sleep so soundly next to a strange man.

The next thing he knows, Jack's phone alarm is going off.


	3. Chapter 3

The alarm startles Jack from sleep, his eyes snapping open and his ears perking up as the loud chime assaults his hearing. A hand reaches out, tempted for a moment to simply smash the phone into the floor to silence it, his patience already thin. The man forces himself to unlock it and silence the alarm the correct way, a groan leaving him as he sets the device back down on the bedside table, wills himself to relax again. Why had he even set that in the first place? It's not like he was on a schedule or anything.

A soft sigh beside him catches his attention. His eyes snap open again, his ears flag in alert. For a moment, when he looks over, he sees her, sees beautiful curly hair, sees warm skin and a smiling face with chocolate brown eyes greeting him. He wants to reach out, wants to hold her, but the illusion is gone. Persephone sits beside him, looking down at him inquisitively. The man covers his eyes with a hand, something heavy welling up in his chest. He sits up, going for his pants off the side of the bed. A cigarette would help settle his nerves. A flick of a lighter and a deep inhale later, and his shoulders droop, his muscles start to relax.

He can feel eyes on him as he stands, the muscles of his body screaming after a night on a lumpy, springy mattress next to a little blanket hog. He pays them no mind, simply getting into his clothes. Hair moves into his face, curls wild after going to bed without waiting for them to dry, but it isn't near as bad as Persephone's. As he looks over, Jack can feel his lips pulling into a smile, can feel a laugh trying to bubble out of his throat. The boy's hair is all over the place, ringlets sticking out in every direction.

"You know, I own a hair brush," Jack says, "You should have used it last night."

The eye roll the boy across the bed from him gives is palpable. He doesn't dignify the older man with a response, simply moving into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. It leaves Jack alone with his thoughts.

Or lackthereof. He refuses to let his mind wander.

He dresses, packs his overnight bag, smokes another cigarette, gets himself ready to go. When Persephone joins him again, his hair is brushed, and his face looks freshly washed. From his vantage point by the door, he can see how dirty the tank top and shorts the other wears is, and he wrinkles his nose under the mask on his face. They should stop by a laundromat. Or even a Goodwill. The boy had been quick to mention that all he had was a credit card, and the clothes on his back. Jack knew how dirty it felt to have to reuse unclean clothes. He shuddered at the thought of how the boy must be feeling.

Gas station coffee is their breakfast that morning. Persephone seems antsy to get going, and Jack supposes he can't blame him. The hotel was a stop that hadn't been planned for, and while Jack wasn't on a schedule, he didn't really wish to dwell too long in a single place. It got dangerous, doing that. Everywhere he'd visited before was beautiful, and the siren song of settling down in each one of them was very real. He didn't want to risk that before he could get back home. So, they were quick to hop in the van and go onto their next destination. As Jack turned on the radio, silence fell between the two, letting the melody of the music wash over them.

The longer they sat, though, the more curious Jack grew.

"Why were you walking to Ontario?"

"What?" Persephone's head whips around to face him, eyes wide.

"I asked," Jack states, "Why you were walking to Ontario from this particular corner of the United States? And in thongs, no less?"

A little giggle leaves the boy's lips, and Jack smiles. "What?"

"Just the fact you call them that. 'Thongs,' I mean. That's the underwear, they're 'tongs' or 'flip-flops' as far as I'm aware." He coils a bit of his hair around his finger, golden eyes glimmering in amusement. Jack snorts and shakes his head.

"Isn't tong just thong in French?" He questions. Persephone shrugs.

"I guess so. But it sounds so weird in English, doesn't it?"

The original question goes forgotten, as the two fall into a light conversation about the semantics of footwear, and then into silence once more. The boy looks out the window, Jack leans back in his seat a bit more. The day is long, and the next town comes quickly. They stop for lunch, but most of their stay there consists of Jack trying to convince Persephone that he could easily pay for an extra shirt and pants to wear, but Persephone won't hear of it, insists if Jack wants him to have a change of clothes, he could buy it himself.

And it's... fun, Jack finds, to spend the time with someone. Persephone seems to be enjoying himself too, the way he grins as he models a more modest dress to Jack. When they get back into the van and go back on the road, the silence is more comfortable, the atmosphere is friendlier. 

Jack is glad for that.


End file.
